Friday, December 27, 2013

The days following Christmas are usually pretty
quiet…excepting of course the tumble and fumble of returning and exchanging
gifts, cashing in gift cards and taking advantage of the after Christmas 70%
off sales that began at 12:01 AM Christmas Day.

Dinner will hold…I mean this is a 40 thousand dollar TV I’m
picking up at Target for only 35 thousand…at least that’s what my credit card
account statement is telling me.

I just don’t recall ordering it though.

But it’s right there on my credit card, so I must have.

They're not gonna hold it for me forever.

But I guess that’s what the confusion of the holidays will
do to you.

I’m also hoping my gastrointestinal system will normalize…at
least after the Lipo.

There’s just too much
eating and drinking during the holidays.

I mean I haven’t stopped since the Druids brought that keg
of home brew last Saturday.

Christmas Eve with my mom, nephews and niece, assorted wives
and significant others, followed up with Christmas Day with more nephews and
nieces, assorted spouses and significant others…not to forget all the in-laws
and out-laws.

Then dinner—again—last night, out with originally mentioned
nephews and niece, along with Irish cousin, Mags, the family consigliore, and
husband James the family psychiatrist, who carries insanity certification
papers that he fills out on an as needed basis so the authorities will cut us
a break when things get out of hand…plus they’re good for 10% off of our dinner
bill…as long as we promise not to come back, which is fine because after a couple
of years most places forget.

But I guess that’s how it goes during the holidays.

Not that anyone is forcing any of it down my throat…I mean,
except for the Druids.

But that’s just their way.

So at least today I get a break from the Merrymaking.

Except for lunch with friend, Janey, later this
afternoon.

Then I’m done…until Sunday dinner with more In-laws…and then
I’m really done…until New Year’s Eve with some more friends, which should put a
cap on it all…until New Year’s Day, when all the nephews and nieces, assorted
spouses and significant others…not to forget all the in-laws and out-laws…come
to our place.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

It’s a sad truth that wisdom only comes with time, and, by
extension…age.

The more experiences we collect in a lifetime, the more we
learn to avoid the pitfalls that unfailingly pop up along the way.

It’s just how it is, young people. You may be wise beyond
your years and college degrees…but until you’ve left the house with a pop tart
stuck in your overzealous toaster…well, need I say more.

Yeah, probably…but I’ve also learned, over nearly 60 years, that
saying more usually leads to trouble.

Wisdom….

But those are just minor examples of the way wisdom sneaks
into our lives over time. It just can’t be helped.

I’m sure you’ve all have had real experiences, no matter
what your age, that have changed the way you see and spend your days.Even the way you experience this hectic
holiday season that has taken on the now, all-encompassing, label of “Christmas”.

“Christmas”, for
many who participate, has superseded the actual “Holi-Day” and become an entire
season unto itself.Kind of a fifth
season that has taken root right in the middle of fall, and doesn’t end until well
after the official start of winter.

Of course there’s the shopping, the decorating and the
partying…not to mention the merrymaking, which is very different from partying,
because merrymaking is peculiar at any other time of year.

Yep…Christmas activities and customs abound, from family to
family…from friend to friend.

But what I’ve discovered, through my own acquired wisdom, is
that the older I’ve gotten the more mechanical and less magical it has all
become…at least for me.

As if every year I pull out a list and methodically check
off all the things I need to do in order to have a memorable holiday season, or
at least a holiday season that matches my preconceived notion of memorable; one
that, let’s face it, stems from feelings and traditions that go back to when I
was two, because, curiously, I had very few holiday traditions when I was one.

Then, of course, the further I fall behind on that list, the
larger the mountain of stress is that grows on my shoulders.

“When am I ever going
to find time to annoy Santa at Rye Ridge…or even find where Santa is at Rye
Ridge?”

“I’ve only seen ‘A
Charlie Brown’ Christmas’ four times this year!”

“Where’s my Leg Lamp
and George Baily Football Jersey?”

“Who stepped on my
only copy of ‘Dominick the Donkey’?”

I know…right?

This manufactured, mechanical stress ultimately leads to
distraction.The distraction leads to making
a forbidden left turn off of North Main Street onto Adee …which leads to a
summons and discovering you’ve forgotten your license…which leads to forgetting
to order the food for the Christmas party, which turns out not to be a problem
since you’ve also forgotten to invite the guests, even though you did remember
to buy 6 cases of beer and wine, which leads to lots of Holiday Cheer, without
the cheer, which leads to December 26th and you saying…

“I don’t know why, but
it all goes so fast, and I just don’t enjoy Christmas the way I did before”.

Then, one day, the wisdom kicks in, right around the time
you come to terms with the fact that the puffiness under your eyes and those
creases around your mouth aren’t going away, after five years of gel
treatments…and you say….

“Hey, maybe this year,
I’ll just enjoy Christmas for whatever it is, and however it plays out…even if old
Uncle Wilbur does bring another 22 year old girlfriend to dinner”.

Maybe, just maybe…if
we put away the lists of expectations, lessen the anticipation and allow
ourselves to follow the Holiday Spirit down whatever road it leads us, in any
given year, be it happy…or as it happens, sometimes, sad…then we can’t help but
truly experience the gift and the wisdom of Christmas, the way it was intended…for
this year and every year to come.

Each is new …each is different…with nothing guaranteed and
nothing to measure up to other than what you allow it to be.

Happy…sad…or somewhere in between…there’s always magic to be
found in Christmas, but the magic begins with you.

Friday, December 20, 2013

So here we are…on the doorstep of Winter Solstice, the
shortest day of the year, which carries us swiftly into Christmas Eve…the
doorway to Christmas Day.

All the shopping done…all the decking done…all the merrymaking…just
about done…done and done.

That is, unless you’ve been living in a cave the last month
and just woke up and said, “Crap…I forgot
all about Christmas!”

Then you’ve got some work to do, not to mention finding a
more suitable place to live.

We’re having our annual Christmas/Winter Solstice party this
weekend…tomorrow, actually.

Hard to believe…I’m still cleaning up the mess the Druids
made last year.

Yeah…you heard me…from last year.

I actually found some Druid paraphernalia down in the basement,
stuck behind the boiler.

I know…right?

Which gave me pause, because I shudder to think what the
Druids were up to in the basement, let alone behind the boiler.

But I guess when you allow Druids to come to your Winter
Solstice Party, you have to expect weird stuff like that.

I mean, they’re Druids.

At least I was able to finally talk them off of that whole “Human
Degradation” ritual they always insist on…especially since I banned the “Human Sacrifice”
thing, right from the get go.

I’m not going to go into it now, since I’ve mentioned it
before, but besides embarrassing the guests, it’s difficult to figure out when
to schedule any of that.

Before the main course, or after?

With desert, but not before the cordials are served?

Then a couple of years ago the Morris Dancers nearly kicked
over the tree.

I mean Morris Dancers at the Summer Solstice is one thing,
because there’s plenty of room for all their shenanigans, outdoors…but we live
in a three bedroom Colonial, with an average size living room and a fireplace…indoor
kicking is not what you’re looking for.

I mean, I was just
being polite when we were all out shoveling the latest round of snow, the
other night.

And if you’ve ever seen a Zombie shoveling snow, you know it’s
painful to watch. It can take them hours just to do the front walk.

So I was helping them out a little; just being neighborly by
giving them a hand, whenever they lost one in the snow.

So I mentioned the party, never thinking they would actually
be into that sort of festive holiday thing.

But was I waaaaaay
off base on that. You should have seen them all light up like a Christmas tree
at the mention of the word party…and I don’t mean like the Uncle who
ignited when the outdoor lights he was hanging over the door short circuited that time.

I guess no one’s ever thought to ask the Zombies to a Christmas
party before.

Why would you?

Not after that Caroling debacle from a few years back.

What a ruckus that stirred up…not only in the neighborhood,
but in the whole town.

People just aren’t ready for Zombies showing up at their
front door, in the middle of the night singing Little Drummer Boy. Not because
they sound bad, at least not by Zombie standards. No…but because they don’t know
all the words and they don’t have a real grasp on the concept of time.

So they tend to linger…a little too long....which tends to make people uncomfortable.

Anyway, they’re coming and now Z’s in a bit of a tizzy.

“I wasn’t planning on the Zombies…now we have to order a
second sandwich tray!”

I said, “Maybe a third,” knowing that once the Zombies start
eating it can be hard to get them to stop.

“And what do the Zombies drink?” Z said, always the conscientious
hostess.

“I’m guessing anything
we serve them will be fine. Zombies aren’t all that picky.”

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Sorry for the Redux today.
The holidays have me somewhat flummoxed....

Original Post: 12/16/11

It used to be a treat to stumble on a great Holiday movie on TV this time of year.If I stumbled on it in July it wasn’t as much of a treat, but I still watched it.

They weren’t trumpeted or turned into big, exclusive events, the way they are now. They were mostly late night or afternoon programming fillers. You didn’t look for them as much as they found you.

I remember the very first time I came across “It’s a Wonderful life",“Charlie Brown’s Christmas”, “Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol”. The 1951 “A Christmas Carol” with Alistair Sim, the Scrooge by which all other Scrooges are judged.

Now, like everything else, there’s a Holiday movie mill where you can find something new almost every day of the week. I’m not gonna say where these movies run or who makes them, but I will say the place is a Hallmark of Christmas schmaltz.

But I won’t tell you who they are exactly….

The first time I came across, “It’s a Wonderful life” was after I served as an altar boy at midnight mass. Yeah, I know…I did those kinds of things back then; before I grew a mind of my own, and escaped unscathed to tell about it. I enjoyed the midnight mass, mostly because it was midnight, and churches are spooky at midnight with all that dark stained glass. Plus all the incense that was flying around had a pleasant effect on my reality, and I got to bong the cool acoustic bell thing, which kind of sounded like the network ID tone for NBC.

But again…I digress.

So there I lay in my room, in the wee hours of Christmas morning, still buzzed on holy fumes, when I turn my old circa 1940’s black and white TV to this odd little Jimmy Stewart movie with a bunch of people, looking way too old for high school, dancing on this gym floor that suddenly turns into a pool…and that was that.There I sat, lost in the twin worlds of Bedford Falls/Pottersville for the very first time.

No fanfare, no color, no horde of lame NBC celebrities cutting in every 5 minutes to relate their useless reminisces. Just me and Jimmy and Donna and Lionel.

I remember, the day after Christmas, telling my friend and fellow altar boy, Phil, about it, and he had the same exact moment and reaction I had…except for ringing the bells. That was mine.

All of that public domain spontaneity lost when NBC paid a gazillion dollars for it and it became an “NBC Holiday Tradition” instead of ours.

I’ve had a few other pure Christmas movie moments like that over the years, most of which I mentioned earlier.There was also the original “The Bishops Wife”…the Carey Grant/David Niven version, not the Denzel.

Caught that one on a Christmas Eve while I was waiting for my mom to pick up my dad at the train and trying not to peek into the garage to check out the bicycle I was sure was being hid out there…which it wasn’t, cuz you know I had to look and ruin my Christmas Eve, because I’m nothing if not materialistic… yet, there it was by the tree the next morning.A Christmas miracle if there was one.

So maybe you can understand if I politely refrain from the countless slew of new Christmas “films” that roll of the sentimental production line this time of year. There are only so many drunken dead beat dad’s who stumble on an angel that turns his life around and reunites him with his family or his dog or his dog’s family…or worse, some tiresome Little Red Christmas Ball that falls off the tree on Christmas eve and enlists the help of some itinerant rodent and a pair of insects to help him reclaim his one true purpose by shining bright for Santa.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

We're getting pretty deep into the Holiday season now,
where people start to do "unusual" things...and there's no turning back.

Say, like us...we made our annual sojourn with friends Rosie and Frank, and Cousin Jim the Baker, last night...despite the fact there was a semi-blizzard blowing all around.

But a good time was had by all, despite the frostbite, despite the soggy shoes, and the despite the lost couple of hours it took us to dig Rosie out from the drift that suddenly blew in under the Rockefeller center Christmas tree.

Luckily, there was plenty of Holiday music to keep our spirits bright throughout the night.

Anyway, now the tree is up and doing its whole Christmas
Tree thing…despite its previous bad attitude.

Yeah…that’s right.

Our tree had a bad attitude this year.

Notice I said “had”…it
doesn’t any more.

I straightened it out…but it wasn’t easy.

And to be honest, which is always an uncertainty…especially
with trees…especially with trees with bad attitudes…I was a little surprised.

Not something you’d expect from a Christmas tree…especially
this time of year.

I was walking past it with my bowl of soup on Monday—the day
after we lugged it into the house and got it situated in its usual spot in the
living room—and I swore I heard muttering.

Nothing harsh or unusual, as far as muttering goes, but
different from the normal muttering I’m used to hearing from my stomach around
lunch time, which usually has to do with disagreement over my particular soup
selection on any given day.

No, this was more of a mild, non-descript muttering, the
kind you might hear when someone is making a passive aggressive point of
displeasure.

I casually put my soup down on the table and walked back over
to the tree.

“I’m sorry…I missed that.” I said.“Were you talking to me?”

Okay, I know…that sounds weird…me putting my soup down and
talking to a tree.

You’re right…normally I would have eaten the soup, first…but
this just seemed like something I needed to nip in the bud, before it got out
of hand. The last thing I need during the holidays is a disgruntled tree
badmouthing me to dinner guests. The guests are pretty adept at doing that themselves
without help from an arbor-ant life form.

“No.” the tree said.“I was just talking to myself. No one usually eavesdropped when I was
alone in the forest.”

“So I guess it’s true, then …if a tree falls in the forest
and there’s no one around to hear, it does make a sound…get it?”

“That’s not funny,” the tree said in a sharp, condescending
tone. “Do you have any idea how many good friends I’ve lost in forest falls?”

“Uh…no…not really,” I said feeling somewhat admonished.

“No…I didn’t think you would, Mr. Oh look, there’s a perfect tree to stick in the corner of our
living room…let’s just hack it right out of the ground, stuff it into our car
and drive it home.”

“Oh, that…but—”

“But what?”

But you were on a Tree
Farm…not really in a forest
forest.It’s what you were there for…to
be chosen…honored, really.”

“Oh, please…just stop. Who told you that?”

“The guy down the hill who owns the place.”

“The chubby bald one who drives that insipid little mouse
trap he calls a hay ride?”

“I guess…wait, there are mice in the hay?”

“Of course there are mice in the hay, moron…it’s a farm
isn’t it?”

Okay, now first, this annoys me because I’m not used to
being a called a moron by a tree; they usually just call me dumb head. And
second, I’m a little disappointed to find out it wasn’t that cute blond trying
to get my attention on the back of the wagon, after all.

“Listen”, I say to the tree.“You had to know, one of these days someone was going to wander by and
say, now there’s a tree I’d be proud to
have decorate my house for Christmas! I mean isn’t that why you were
planted in the first place?”

The tree just flipped one of its branches in my direction;
an assortment of ornaments rattling and clanking together, holding tight to
their new home.

“I don’t know why I was planted…sometimes I wish I never
was. That no good, loser pinecone I sprang from should have just left my seed to rot inside….”

Hoo boy, I
thought.A tree suffering an existential crisis with daddy issues, to boot.We picked a doozy this year.

“But just look at how good you look, right now.Lights, tinsel, shiny bright ornaments of
every shape and design hanging from limb to limb.”

“Really?” the tree
said.Is that the argument you’re going
with…the whole, you light up the dark
holiday night, bit….really?”

“Well, you do”, I answered.

“How would you like all this glitz hanging off of every one
of your appendages, Holiday Boy…every
one?”

An image raced through my brain that made me wince. “Okay,
look, I get it.A few days ago you were planted
squarely in the woods, hanging with all your squirrel, bunny and bird buds.”

“And now look at me….”

“Now, you look amazing…you’re
everything you were always meant to be…look.”

I showed the tree the picture I took of it last night. “Not
too shabby, huh?”

“I suppose, there’s a certain charm to me…different from
before, but charm none the less.”

“Charm…are you kidding?You’re the focal point of the room…the whole house.”

“I always did picture myself as an attention grabber…but
year after year people just walked right past me…as if I didn’t exist…as if I
didn’t matter.”

I noticed a small trickle of sap rolling down the tree's upper
most limb. Ahhhh…now we were getting to the root of the problem…so to speak.

“But you did matter,” I said.“You just had to wait until your time had
come…until both our times came together.And now you matter to us, and you will to everyone who walks in our
house and makes a fuss over you.To all
the little kids and their holiday hearts, young and old…you will more than
matter….right through the New Year.

I wasn’t really sure where I was getting all of this stuff, but
I guess all those endless hours spent watching Hallmark Christmas movies were
finally paying off.

“I suppose you’re right,” the tree said. It was standing a little taller, a
little straighter, now… proud to finally apply Christmas to its name.

“I know I’m right!”

I gave a little tug of solidarity to one of its lower limbs
and jangled a couple of ornaments loose in the process.

Retorting on Twitter

About Me

My passion these days is writing silly stories for “The
Freelance Retort”, the humor website I began in May of 2011 when the world was
supposed to come to an end. It didn’t and now I’m stuck writing these things 2
or 3 times a week.My passion before that was chocolate ice cream.

When I’m not doing this, I’m a freelance, corporate writer/director/ producer, which means—besides the many slashes—I create everything from promotional, instructional and training videos to interactive on line presentations for various corporation and health care companies. In that sense I guess you could say that I’m a “professional writer” since I do get paid to write, work from home and have lots of free time to myself. However, most of my friends and neighbors think I’m just goofing off. Naturally, being a freelance writer who deals with the sometimes insanity of the corporate world from the safety of the creative fringe, my views will more often than not be tinged with cynicism, sarcasm and a fair share of self-deprecation. I hope you enjoy them in the spirit in which they are intended….